


Crickets Aren't As Special As You Think They Are

by SapphicBeetles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicBeetles/pseuds/SapphicBeetles
Summary: Set in the (mostly) modern, 2019-2020 era of Hogwarts, a pureblood boy by the name of Greyson 'Cricket' Gullen gets put on the scarlet Hogwarts Express, on a journey to his first year of his wizard schooling. His parents, proud Hufflepuffs. A line of grandparents (on his mother's side), proud Ravenclaws.However, Cricket runs into a hot-tempered, sassy muggleborn. With a rocky start, both kids learn that they're gonna have to work together, or they'll never get through the year.[year one]





	Crickets Aren't As Special As You Think They Are

**Author's Note:**

> howdy do, everyone reading! i really appreciate everybody who decided this seemed to be an interesting enough read, and hope you'll hang around!
> 
> i'll try to get chapters up every 2-3 days, but please don't mind if i happen to take a week or two to post. school is definitely kicking my ass, but it's almost over anyway!!
> 
> please, leave any comments or suggestions at any given time! i already have a set plot for this, but if anybody has any critiques, i'll be a-okay with rewriting a few parts!
> 
> this is my very first post on this site, and i can't wait!!!  
> \----------------------------------------------------------

“Yes, Ma, I fed the owl, and my stuff’s packed, and can we please get to the platform now?”

A young boy, no older than 11, was ferociously trying to grasp a mason jar that his mom was holding just out of his reach. His honey-colored hair kept falling into his eyes as he jumped, arms stretched out, but to no avail.

“Greys, can you wait for your dad? I know you’re excited, but-” his mother really tried to look stern, but she couldn’t help the smirk that crossed over her face at her son’s overdramatic pout, “-you really need to tone it down! Poor Mal is throwing her own fit!” And, with that, she gestured to the owl flapping in her cage.

Just then, a very tall man turned the hallway corner, looking both elated and anxious.“Cricket! Are you ready for Hogwarts?” He asked enthusiastically, snatching the jar from his wife and handing it to his son, who was nodding excitedly.

Greyson, better known as Cricket to his friends (and father), was a boy with a lanky frame and fluffy, honey hair that desperately needed a cut. He was gleefully humming as he reached into the jar of powder. The pale boy took a breath as his father pulled out a wand and pointed it to the fireplace, starting it up.

Cricket threw the fistful of powder into the flame, watching the gold embers turn to a vibrant green. He stepped in, shouting, “Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters!”  
A weird feeling overtook the kid as he was thrown through the floo network, and before he knew it he was ungracefully thrown into the platform, where a bright, scarlet train was awaiting the Hogwarts students, and there were so many families there, sending off their children to school.

Cricket turned around to see both his parents apparate in, one carrying Malorie the owl and the other carrying his giant trunk. They looked a little flustered to be back in the now-improved station, as they haven’t been here for over twenty years. 

“Well, this place looks a bit different. Is that network new?” Cricket’s mother pointed to another fireplace, a little smaller than the one Cricket himself fell out of, but still in use.  
Nodding, Cricket’s dad looked around. “I’m fairly certain the muggle-borns are going to get those… rectangle thingies taken away. Or they’ll blow up,” he gestured with his hand, and both parents plus Cricket laughed. 

The place around the family seemed to begin thinning out, the train’s shrill whistle blaring on-cue to the few departing parents shouting their addresses in the floo networks or the loud pop of disapparting. Families around them sped up their goodbyes, more kids swarming the train. Cricket and his family dragged his stuff to the train, stowing the trunk and owl away safely.

As Cricket turned to the stairs to hop on, his dad grabbed him and pulled him into a rib-breaking hug. His mother joined in, and soon he was being pushed on. As Cricket’s mom started to walk away, his dad pulled him to the side.

“Crick, you’re gonna love it at Hogwarts.” The father had watering eyes- wait, was he crying? “Nobody is going to mess with you, and when you’re sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, you’re gonna absolutely adore your first year,” and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small box, one that fit perfectly into Cricket’s hand. Cricket opened his mouth to ask what it was, but the train’s whistle interrupted him again as his mother shouted something along the lines of ‘Hurry up!’

“Pull it out on the ride there, and tap it with your wand! Don’t forget to write, little bug!” And, with that, he turned Cricket to the train and watched his son get on, and shortly after, the train start moving out of King’s Cross Station.


End file.
